


Clever as the Devil and Twice as Pretty

by anne_ammons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, F/M, Hermione is a badass, Hermione learns to be a Domme, Light BDSM, Taking down the patriarchy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anne_ammons/pseuds/anne_ammons
Summary: Hermione thought that she had fought the Second Wizarding War for equality. Society had other ideas. Unsatisfied with their answer, she decides to bring them all to their knees... literally.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 15
Kudos: 92
Collections: New Year New Mood board





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Excited to participate in the New Year, New Moodboard fest! Thanks to the Mods for hosting and huge thanks and much love to MrsRen and Pandorascube for trying to spank my words into shape. All remaining errors are because I'm hardheaded and/or impatient.

As Hermione unlaced her ridiculously high-heeled boots, she smiled to herself. _It was all so easy, like taking candy from a baby_. She chuckled at the muggle idiom that few would even understand. She took off her gloves and set them on the dressing table in the darkly-lit room beside a few of her favorite implements. She would put them back where they belonged later. At the moment, she needed to head somewhere else.

Hermione unlaced her corset and threw it on the chaise, taking a deep breath. She opened the bottom drawer on the vestibule and pulled out her clothes,thinking about what she would need to do before this evening’s guest. She wriggled into her jeans, pulled her jumper over her head, grabbed her wand and then Disapparated to meet her friend.

Emerging from the alley in Muggle London, Hermione quickly spotted Ginny scanning the street, her long red har was unmistakable.

“There you are!” Ginny exclaimed as Hermione reached her. “I’m famished. Let’s eat!” The redhead pulled her into an embrace before turning to head into the restaurant.

“Sorry, Gin. I was held up.”

“Yes, yes. We all know there must have been a tragic literary emergency.”

Hermione laughed. If only her friend knew that not twenty minutes ago, she had been flogging Phineas Fernbank, head of Magical Games and Sports, as he begged for more.

“So, how are things?” Ginny asked. “Been on any dates lately?”

“I’m _fine_. Thank you for asking.” Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing Ginny cared far more about the answer to the second question than the first. “And, no. You know I haven’t.”

“Ugh!” Ginny exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “How am I supposed to live vicariously through you when you make no effort at having a life!”

Hermione laughed, knowing how excited Ginny was just to get out of the house for their lunch date. As expected, Harry and Ginny had married once Ginny had finished at Hogwarts, and shortly after, Ginny was pregnant with their first child. They now had two lovely children that Hermione adored. She was thrilled to be godmother to James and Albus, but she knew she had little to no interest in following in her footsteps any time soon.

“And how are the two cherubs?” Hermione asked in an effort to change the subject.

Quick as lightning, Ginny pointed a finger at Hermione, her eyes flashing. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, missy. I may be sleep-deprived, but I know you’re deflecting.”

Hermione smirked, but didn’t say a word, deciding to wait Ginny out. It didn’t take long.

Ginny sat back in her seat, grinning. “Ahh, they’re wonderful. Tiring, but wonderful. Al is so close to crawling, and James, well, you can ask him for yourself when you come over for brunch on Sunday.”

Hermione smiled and nodded her head, acknowledging the invitation. She hadn’t seen the boys in a couple of weeks. It would be good to see them.

“My question still stands - when was the last time you went on a date, Hermione? You’ve got to get out there at some point! I mean, all the good ones are being snapped up. When you’re finally ready, you’ll be left with Goyle.”

It was Hermione’s turn to roll her eyes. “Gin, I’m good. Really. Not everyone meets their soulmate at the age of ten, you know.” Hermione retorted. She knew Ginny meant well, and that she was only parroting what Wizarding Society had taught her. But, Hermione didn’t need a date, and she definitely wasn’t looking for a husband.“And besides, the Prophet reported that Goyle married Millicent Bulstrode quite a while ago.” Hermione sighed. “I’m barely twenty-six. It is so odd to me that everyone is in a rush to date and get married. If and when it’s time, I’ll get there.”

Ginny sat back in her seat, waving her hand. “Fine. Fine. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” Hermione insisted. “I like my life. And I don’t need a man to define or complete me. Really.” She realized what she had said, and hoped Ginny hadn’t made the connection to her own circumstances. She added quickly, “I’m happy for what you and Harry have. Truly, Gin. It’s just not on my list of priorities right now.” She looked down at the menu in front of her. “Now, what are we having for lunch?”

After another hour or so catching up, Hermione parted ways with Ginny, promising to come by on Sunday. She checked her watch, noting that she had enough time to stop by the bookstore before her afternoon appointment. She ducked back into the alley and Disapparated, landing in Diagon Alley near her bookshop.

* * *

Irrepertus was a small bookshop tucked on one of the small side streets off of Diagon Alley. She had been in the bookstore once or twice when she was in school, searching its aisles to see what treasures it held. When Hermione had first seen the for sale sign in the window shortly after her twentieth birthday, having spent the last several months applying in vain for ministry jobs she would never be given, she felt confident that she would be able to forge another path — one not based on either ministry patronage or marriage. The previous owner had ready to retire and was more than happy to hand the keys over to her — for the right amount of galleons. Once the transaction had been completed and she had moved her things from Grimmauld Place, she breathed a sigh of relief. The shop was something that was hers, something she could control and build up. The bookstore would be a haven where she could lose herself among knowledge — and for the most part, books didn’t care about blood status.

Even after the war, Wizarding Society wasn’t as kind to Muggleborns as Hermione had hoped. Sure, there had been offers to work with the Ministry, but only the kind that meant cramped offices, long hours, and limited opportunity for advancement. Unlike for Harry and Ron, the way hadn’t been paved for Hermione.

Wizarding society was still so traditional — ahem, patriarchal — not that there weren’t women working at the Ministry of Magic. However, a young woman was supposed to be focused on settling down, starting a family and rebuilding the magical population in the aftermath of the war. At least, that’s what several department heads at the Ministry had told her. However, Hermione had no interest in settling down for the sake of conformity — not that there was a line of suitors beating a path to her door, either.

She had expected her blood status wouldn’t matter after having fought for equality, but it somehow remained a barrier to equal treatment. She was the _brightest witch of her age_. She had proved herself against the darkest of wizards. But the two things that she couldn’t change and had no control over — her blood status and her gender — would continue to define her interactions within the Wizarding World.

Harry was furious for her, but he had his own vault full of galleons. He was also a man, and as the savior of the Wizarding World, he was going to be just fine.

And Ron? He tried to placate her, explaining that she _just didn’t understand_ and _that’s how things were done_. It had led to a strained relationship between the two of them, that and the fact that he and Lavender had rekindled their romance in the aftermath of the war. From her vantage point, Hermione saw Ron as a product of the broken society in which he had been raised, as were the majority of their classmates. She, however, refused to take part.

Initially, Hermione had been frustrated and angry and wanted to bring the Wizarding World down around her. She had given up both her childhood and her parents for a fight that wasn’t hers, for a world that didn’t fully value her contributions and didn’t want to accept her. However, she was also a practical woman, with a touch of Slytherin cunning and ambition to balance out her Gryffindor bravery. She decided that it would be better to play the long game, given how entrenched some of the backward ideals were in society. So, in the absence of being able to find a job at the Ministry that would hold her interest, she took what little savings she had from selling her parents’ house and bought a small bookshop with a flat over it. That had been over six years ago now.

It was a dream come true, for a while. She wasn’t trying to run Flourish and Blotts out of business. In fact, her shop specialized in harder to find texts than schoolbooks and popular literature. Hermione carefully curated a selection of Magical and Muggle literature for true book lovers. The result was that her shop had gained a local following, amongst those who read. It was enough. It paid the bills, but it certainly wasn’t going to set the world on fire and she knew there were those who wouldn’t patronize her bookstore, simply based on the fact that it was hers... a Muggleborn’s, rather than someone connected (even if only partially) to an old Wizarding family. Hermione had been frustrated by this, but had chosen to overlook the slight. Instead, she bided her time, throwing her energy into the shop.

Oh, society still lauded her as a heroine. She was trotted out with Harry and Ron on occasion when it came time to raise money for one charity of another, but only the Death Eaters had been punished for their actions and ended up in Azkaban for their crimes. Everyday wizards and witches were still free to act and feel how they chose, and if that meant politely smiling at her in the ballroom, but sneering at her on the street, she was supposed to accept their disdain and disregard it with grace. In her opinion, it was a load of dung.

* * *

Ironically, it was the Muggle world that had given her the means to find an outlet to address her dissatisfaction with the Wizarding World. It had been an accident that had brought her to this path, although she considered it a happy one at this point. She was comfortable moving in both Wizarding and Muggle society, not afraid to express herself in either world. She appreciated the freedom and anonymity she was afforded in Muggle London, but she was a witch, and wanted... no, needed to also be a part of the magical world.

Hermione found herself on a shopping trip in Muggle London, looking for a few items that would allow her to “take care of herself” so to speak. She had needs, after all, and she knew she didn’t need a man to meet them.

She had come across the store several years before, after yet another date that left her feeling distinctly unsatisfied at the end of the night. It was a rather nondescript building near Shoreditch, but inside, it was a shop catered to the sexual needs of women: things to bring pleasure, things to make you feel pretty, things to experiment with, they had it all. This was an area that she felt Muggle society ran circles around the traditional values and practices of Wizarding society. She chuckled thinking about some of the people that she knew, if they saw her in such a shop. Ron would be absolutely flummoxed to even knew such a place existed. Ginny would probably be intrigued, and Harry would benefit from Ginny’s open-mindedness. The shop carried all kinds of things, from standard fare to the exotic to the truly eyebrow raising.

Her mission was simple enough — she wanted a new vibrator. However, as she passed by a sign tacked on the billboard by the restroom caught her eye.

_Not afraid to take the bull by the horns?_

_Looking for confident women for a unique opportunity._

_Serious inquiries from interesting women only._

She paused, intrigued by the wording, wondering what exactly it meant. It was vague, but worded in a way that drew her attention. It had been so long since she had had a new adventure — at least one that hadn’t come from the pages of a book. She was confident, for sure. But did she qualify as interesting? At least, whatever it was would be outside of the Wizarding world. That was a plus.

Hermione tore off the slip of paper and tucked it into her pocket, as she made her way to the front to pay for her purchases, deciding to ask the cashier about the sign.

The girl looked Hermione up and down as if appraising her. “Uh, yeah, I hear Mistress Margaret is looking for a student, but she’s really picky about who she takes on. She’s a legend, after all. You can’t get to be her age and not be.” She paused. “You can make good money, if you’re good at it.”

Hermione frowned. She wasn’t sure what the girl was talking about. _Mistress_ was an odd title. What was she expecting, after all? She had no need for a madam.

The shop girl continued, unbothered by Hermione’s reaction. “I’d be interested in becoming a Dom myself, but my boyfriend, well...he wouldn’t like it, having to be around all those men.” She leaned in, as if there were others around to overhear, “He prefers that he’s the only one that I tell what to do.”

Hermione’s interest was once again piqued. When she got home, she set the slip of paper on her desk, and there it sat.

* * *

Several days later, Hermione was enjoying a day out with Ginny and the boys in Diagon Alley when she heard the slur. _Mudblood bitch._ It was whispered just low enough for her to hear, someone knocking into her side and causing her to stumble. Her head swiveled to try and find the source, seeing Petras Parkinson, Pansy’s older brother, narrowing his eyes, as if daring her to say something to him. His wife looked apologetic and tried to pull him along.

While the Parkinsons may have been smart enough to not be marked as Death Eaters, feigning neutrality, it was well known that they were staunch supporters of blood purity and all the ridiculous pureblood traditions that went along with it. She scowled, reaching for her wand. He wouldn’t get away with it. She felt Ginny grab her arm. “Ignore it. Not here.”

Hermione knew Ginny was right, this was not the time or place to react — he was hoping to get a rise out of her. She scowled and turned from him, seething inside. When was the time and place that arseholes like Parkinson got what was coming to him? When was it that she could stop turning the other cheek? 

That evening, as she sat at her desk, she pulled out her mobile and dialed the number written on the scrap of paper from the shop.

A female voice answered, “Yes?” She sounded annoyed.

Hermione began hesitantly, not sure how to start. “Hello. I’m calling in reference to the flier I saw.”

“And?”

“I’d like to learn.” Hermione answered with more conviction. She had nothing to lose here.

“Why?”

Hermione paused. How truthful should she be? “I am looking for a way to show that I am a force to be reckoned with.”

“Hmm... and are you?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you a force to be reckoned with?”

Hermione didn’t hesitate in answering, “Unequivocally.”

“Intriguing. Come by 14 Selwood Terrace on Thursday evening at 8pm. We’ll see what type of force you are.”

The woman hung up, but Hermione kept the phone cradled to her ear for a moment, as she took a deep breath. _Well, here goes nothing_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta thanks to MrsRen. All remaining errors are my own.

On Thursday, Hermione closed the shop early and headed out for her appointment. At 7:50, she found herself staring at the front door of a nondescript Kensington townhouse. She knocked once before the door was opened by an older woman in a flowing floral robe.

“Early are we, Miss... ?” The woman’s voice trailed off.

“Granger. And you are?”

“Why, I’m Mistress Margaret, of course. Welcome to my home.” She gestured for Hermione to come inside, ushering her to a sitting room and inviting her to sit. “Tea? Whiskey? I'm afraid I don’t have much in terms of refreshments.”

Hermione nodded to the first and took a look at her host as she moved across the room. She guessed her to be in her late 50s or early 60s, although she figured she had must be wearing a good bra, because everything seemed to be in the right place.

“How do you take your tea?”

“Just as it is. Thank you.”

Mistress Margaret turned and handed Hermione a cup and saucer and then sat in the chair across from her.

“So, Miss Granger. Tell me why you are here?”

Hermione was puzzled. “I saw an ad... ” she started.

“No, no. I already know you saw the sign at Sh! Such a fun little shop, isn’t it?” Mistress Margaret interrupted. “Tell me why a nice girl like you claims to be a force of nature and has come here on a Thursday evening to see someone like me.”

“I want to learn from you.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I find that I am constantly being underestimated and overlooked. I live in a world that doesn’t believe that young women can be powerful. I plan to prove them wrong.”

Mistress Margaret chortled and rubbed her hands together. “Oh, dear. Is that so? Now _that_ we can work with.”

She rose to her feet and motioned for Hermione to stand. She grasped Hermione’s chin and turned it to and fro. “Good bone structure, full lips, beautiful even skin tone. Although I’ll be honest, brown-skinned girls don’t always do as well in this business. Nothing personal, dear. Just the facts.” She clasped one of Hermione’s hands in her own. “Now, tell me. What do you do?”

“I work in a bookshop.” Hermione fudged.

“Ahh, so often it’s the quiet ones.” Mistress Margaret gestured for Hermione to turn. “And with an arse like that, you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand in no time.” She chuckled. “And do you have a beau, dear?”

“I don’t.” Hermione said simply.

“Hmm. And why is that?” The older woman questioned.

Hermione sighed. “To be honest, I find dating to be complicated. Everyone around me seems to be in a rush to get married and start a family, and I don’t see why. When everyone around you is focused on getting to the altar, it makes casual dating a challenge.”

Mistress Margaret nodded, putting her hands around Hermione’s waist for a moment and then reached up and cupped her breasts.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed in surprise.

“Sorry, dear. I’m trying to get a feel for what we’re working with. No sense in hiding under padding. You’ve either got it or you don’t, and it looks like you’ve got plenty. And how old are you? Are you currently in Uni?”

Hermione blushed. “Twenty-three. And no, I’m not, but I graduated at the top of my class.” It was a bit of a sore spot. While Uni wasn’t important in the Wizarding world, it was one of those questions that muggles tended to ask. She wished she had a better answer.

“Oh?” Mistress Margaret dropped her hands from Hermione and raised an eyebrow. “Anywhere I might know?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so, I attended a small boarding school in Scotland.”

The woman motioned for her to sit again. “And what do you do for fun?”

“I do a lot of reading.”

Mistress Margaret laughed and clasped her hands. “Of course, you do, dear. What’s your favorite book? And don’t say _Pride and Prejudice_!”

It was Hermione’s turn to laugh, Mistress Margaret had made her feel completely at ease. She scrambled for a book or a genre to name, given she couldn’t exactly say Hogwarts - A History or potion texts. “Hmm...I find myself returning to historical fiction quite often. But of Jane Austen’s works, I find _Emma_ to be far more captivating.”

Mistress Margaret clasped her hands together. “Excellent. I’m so glad you called, Miss Granger. I think we will have great fun working together. But first, we need to know what to call you.”

“Hermi...” she began, but was cut off by the woman.

“No! That is not what I meant. Your name is your own and it is important that it stays that way. Mistress Margaret is not what my mother named me, but it is what my clients call me. Well, my clients and my students, that is.”

“Lesson one: your name should evoke some emotional response in your client — fear, interest, desire.” She said the last word slowly. “You are creating a persona for them to interact with. It isn’t you, but it should draw upon pieces of who you are, otherwise it won’t be authentic. Do you understand?”

Hermione nodded.

“For me, perhaps I want them to think of a member of the monarchy,something regal. By my very name, I want them to know that I am over them, better than them. That they must work to be worthy of my attention. Yes?”

Hermione nodded again.

“That is your homework for this week, to come up with a persona, a name, and find something to wear. Now, I will see you next week and the real work will start.” She headed towards the door, Hermione’s audience having ended. “Goodnight, Miss Granger. I am looking forward to working with you.”

Hermione walked to the nearest Tube stop. She wanted time to consider what had just happened, and for once, muggle means of transportation would fit the bill where Apparition would not.

* * *

A name. What was in a name? Who did she want to be? What was meaningful?

She looked down at the list again, thinking through the merits of each of the ones that hadn’t yet been crossed off.

Desire?

It was a word, but was it a name? She wanted men to desire her, but not necessarily in _that_ way. She wanted to be irresistible, as it would best work to her own advantage.

Morgana?

A nod to one of the most powerful witches, but perhaps not the most positive connotation.

Boudica?

An empowered woman for sure, but perhaps the reference might be lost on most wizards. (Perhaps that didn’t matter.) And then, there was the fact that Boudica was overpowered in the end. That certainly wasn’t part of Hermione’s plan.

She thought about how her friends saw her and made a list: intelligent, problem solver, loyal, quick with a hex (but only when deserved), swotty, brave.

She paused, looking at the assembled words. None of those screamed goddess who oozed sex and power, but she wasn’t bothered by that. Being a Domme wasn’t about sex, and she wasn’t trying to catch all the fish. In fact, she was only trying to catch certain ones, and for that, she didn’t need to ooze sex, she just needed to sell the idea of it, kinked as that might be.

She looked over her list again, thinking about each term, and all of a sudden it came to her. She grinned, quite pleased with herself.

A week later, she arrived promptly at 7:50 again, and as before, the door opened before Hermione could knock more than once.

Mistress Margaret invited her in and looked her up and down, taking in the tightly belted trench coat and leather pants and heels. “Name?” She asked.

“Athena,” Hermione replied confidently.

Goddess of both wisdom and war. It felt empowering. Her namesake was not only wise, but also courageous and resourceful. It also gave a subtle nod to her favorite professor, not that most would make that connection, given few people were knowledgeable in both Greek and Roman mythology. Her father had loved both and she had been raised on bedtime stories of the gods. It was why she was given her name, as the daughter of Helen Granger. Before the war, Hermione and her parents had traveled to Greece and had wandered through the Parthenon and the Acropolis. It was one of her favorite memories.

“Interesting choice.”

“I-I want them to worship me like a goddess.” Hermione was reluctant to say that out loud, but she chose to give voice to her desire, and with that, came additional strength.

“Then they shall.” Mistress Margaret replied with a knowing look.

She led Hermione through the house and down the stairs, stopping at a closed door.

“And what are we wearing?”

Hermione unbuckled her coat to reveal what she had put together. She hadn’t been sure what to wear, other than it should be tight and black and leather.

“Mmm, not bad. Although, I don’t know why girls these days try so hard. Are you comfortable?” She motioned for Hermione to hang up her coat.

Hermione was surprised by the question. “I guess?”

Mistress Margaret shook her head. “You should always be comfortable in whatever you have on, whether you’re working or not. If you’re not, the people around you will know. And whatever you wear should add to the fantasy, not detract from it. Life is too short to sport a wedgie in leather pants.”

Hermione suppressed a smile and filed the information away for later. It sounded like a good life lesson.

“And one other thing, dear. Don’t wear the clothes you work in when you come here. It can draw unwanted attention. You aren’t a call girl.” She waved her hand dismissively. “My _niece_ can visit me whenever she wants, without raising suspicion, but if she’s wearing four inch heels, well, then I may have to start answering questions that I don’t want to. If my neighbors knew what actually went on here...” Mistress Margaret’s voice trailed off. Hermione nodded to indicate that she understood. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The older woman opened the door and ushered Hermione inside. “Now, here’s where I do most of my work.” She stepped behind a screen partition to find a plethora of toys, tools and instruments that could be put to use, depending on the need.

“Take a good look around. You don’t need all of this to get started, of course, but the more you have to work with, the more flexible you can be — and the more responsive you can be to your client.”

Hermione nodded as she looked around the room, taking in the various implements lined on one side of the room. There were an array of floggers and crops in one section, with two whips coiled nearby. Another section held cuffs and ropes of different kinds. Everywhere she looked, she saw a different set of tools, each neatly lined up on a table or affixed to the wall. The sheer variety was dizzying.

“You have to understand,” Mistress Margaret pointed out. “I’ve been at this for a long time now, dear. And, frankly, I like my toys. You don’t need much at all to get started, but you will need to know your clients. A happy client will come back again and again because you’ve formed a relationship with them and you give them what they want.”

“And how exactly do you get to know them?” Hermione asked.

“Your job is to sell them on an idea — their own idea. Most men come to women like us to be able to express a different side of themselves. With you, they are allowed to open up and be vulnerable in ways that they perhaps can’t or won’t in their everyday lives. But, before you get to that point, you will want to find a way to establish some rapport, but in a safe way. Talk on the phone, perhaps. Ask questions. Get to know their likes and dislikes, at least the ones that they know about.”

Hermione must have had a puzzled look on her face. Mistress Margaret smiled and explained, “Most men you will encounter haven’t done anything like this. They may be curious. Or, even if they have, they are coming to you to see how you approach things. This business is about relationships, after all. If you find a way to connect with your client, to make him feel comfortable so he can really let go while he’s with you, well then, that’s where the magic is.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle at hearing the word magic, but it also made her wonder about how this might work in the magical world. For starters, she wouldn’t need as many props, she could conjure her own. More importantly, she thought about the reception of it all. Wizarding society was so traditional, but also quite repressed. If there was a magical equivalent to a Domme, she didn’t know of it. The other wrinkle was how she would get to know her clients, given talking on the phone wasn’t an option. She would have to consider it carefully.

Hermione turned her attention back to the room she was standing in, she would think through those things later. For now, she needed to learn, so she took advantage of Mistress Margaret’s expertise, handling a number of items she was unfamiliar with and asking questions about how they were to be used.

The older woman picked up a small crop. “Now, hold out your arm.”

Hermione did so, if a bit hesitantly.

“I’m going to strike you with this. It will sting, but I’m not intending to hurt you. Do you understand?”

Hermione nodded yes and then received a swift blow on her forearm. True to Mistress Margaret’s words, it stung, but was bearable.

“Do you know why I did that?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “Because I need to not only know how to use everything, but also how it feels when being used.”

“Correct. Being a Domme is a great responsibility. You are holding the other person’s safety and well-being in your hands. You need to know where to hit or clamp or tie, and how hard or soft or tight you should be, and the best teacher is experience.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she surveyed the butt plugs of various sizes on one table.

The older woman laughed. “Okay… not everything has to be experienced personally, but you should never use anything on someone else without knowing how it is used and… when possible, how it feels. Understood?” She put the crop down and moved towards the restraints.

“Now Athena, do you know what a safe word is?” She said, turning her full attention to her pupil. “Every client must have their own safe word. It’s a word that wouldn’t normally be uttered during the session. It’s important because it ensures that your Sub can relax into the experience you are giving them. Because with it, they have the ability to stop you, if what you are doing isn’t what they want.”

Hermione nodded her head and Mistress Margaret continued, “You don’t control what the word is, but you both need to be clear about what it is it before you do anything.”

The evening continued with demonstrations and discussion. Hermione readily soaked in the knowledge given. She planned to put it all to good use. All too soon, she was headed home, but not without a number of book recommendations to read (“I know how you love reading, dear. These will round out and supplement your practical education.”) and the promise of being able to watch Mistress Margaret work with a client next week (“While the books are helpful, clearly there is nothing like practical knowledge. Don’t you agree?”).

There were so many things Hermione wanted to know. It was terribly exciting having a whole new field to learn (and hopefully master). She saw how this work might give her a way to reconcile her role in the Wizarding World. Her mind was spinning with all the possibilities. Anxious to start jotting down her ideas, she ducked into a nearby alley and Disapparated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta thanks to Mrs. Ren!

“You look different.”

The bookstore was quiet, except for her two visitors. Ginny leaned over the counter while young James snoozed in his carriage. Hermione ignored the comment, knowing her friend was fishing, casting her net to see what she might catch. She opened a box of books that had recently arrived.

“No, seriously, you look different. What did you do?”

Hermione looked up and smiled. Ginny was far too observant. “Nothing, really. I don’tknow what you are talking about.”

Ginny was unmoved. “Your hair looks the same. I’ve seen that sweater before. You hardly have on any make up. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s almost as if you’ve got some internal glow.”

Ginny peered at her a moment longer and then exclaimed,“You got laid, didn’t you!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Predictable. “Wrong. I most certainly have not had sex with anyone.”

Ginny sighed, deflated. “Bummer. But, my point remains. Something is different.”

Maybe there was something different. Maybe it was the feeling of empowerment she got from her lessons. It affected not only how she carried herself and how she acted at Mistress Margaret’s, but she felt a sense of empowerment that stayed with her. She loved learning new things, and the world of Dommes was rather complex. It was an interesting mix of skill and psychology. Being able to read a situation and a person was critical, and knowing your own boundaries was essential. For someone who lived in her head as much as Hermione did, it was exciting.

Over the past several weeks, she had progressed from watching to doing, starting with experienced subs who enjoyed helping a new Domme find her rhythm. Mistress Margaret was never far, but stepped in only twice, first to instruct the Sub to allow the new Domme to take control and second, at the end, to administer after care, given these were her relationships, her clients. Later, when they were alone, the two women sat down to discuss the experience, pouring over the details and refining Hermione’s approach.

She felt different as she walked through her day. The comments and sneers she received didn’t bother her as much. If anything, they fueled her and she poured that passion into both her education and her planning. Hermione had seen the type of men that her mentor worked with. These were powerful men and she expected that the Wizarding World would be no different. She was confident that she could turn their arrogance and their superiority against them.

Not that she could tell Ginny about any of that. It was a sore spot, having to keep things that were becoming a large part of her life from her friends, but Hermione had decided early on that this was something that she needed to keep to herself. That didn’t mean that she couldn’t throw Ginny a bone, though.

“Well, I did get a new bra.”

Ginny’s face lit up. “See! I knew there was something! Let’s see it!”

Hermione looked outside for a moment, and seeing no one outside the shop window, she pulled up her sweater and flashed her friend.

Her bra was an intricate combination of purple lace and ribbon in a balconette style. It was not something that she would have worn before, but now, she found the right undergarments helped her feel amazing, even when she was just the Muggleborn girl with the bookshop. And besides, she needed to begin building her wardrobe.

“Merlin, Hermione! That’s hot! No wonder you’re glowing.”

Hermione lowered her shirt, grinning at her friend. “I’m glad you approve.”

“And you’re sure you aren’t wearing that for anyone in particular?” Ginny pressed again.

“Only for myself. That’s the only person whose opinion matters.”

“Hmm… I think if others knew what you were hiding under there, they might change their opinions.” Ginny smirked. “And poor me. No nursing bra could ever be that cute. Good thing he’s worth it.” She looked down at the sleeping babe.

* * *

Hermione could see why no one had done something like this — at least not that she had been able to find evidence of. While mistresses were common enough in pureblood circles and there were well-known Sex Witches, but given the insular (and prudish) nature of the magical community, anything more interesting than that either went on in the privacy of one’s own home or if not, those interests and urges went unfulfilled. Having gone to school with a number of pureblood witches, she figured that most fell into that second category.

She was fortunate to be sex positive — not that that was what this was, but there was intimacy and intimate contact involved in working as a Domme, and she felt open to seeing where things led. In fact, in the time she had been working with her mentor, she had steadily become more sure that she could parlay her newfound knowledge into the Wizarding World, and that by doing so, she could regain some semblance of control and equity in this society that had been content to use her skills for their own benefit, all while holding her at an arm’s length.

She looked down at her notebook once more, reading the headings under which she had been making detailed notes. 

Space

Tools

Privacy

Screening

She would need to set up both an Owl Post box and a separate account at Gringotts. Everything needed to be kept separate, both from the bookshop and from her own affairs. Maintaining plausible deniability was one thing. Being needlessly careless was another.

She jotted down another word, Advert. How would her clients find her? It wasn’t as if she could place an ad on the internet and find them. No, she’d have to use the means at her disposal. Mistress Margaret had talked to her about her early days — about how a discrete advertisement in the newspaper had brought some of the men that she still worked with over twenty years later. A mutually beneficial relationship, she had called it, gesturing to her well-appointed townhome.

Hermione didn’t need a place to live. And she certainly wasn’t planning on bringing anyone to her home. She would have to find somewhere else to do her work. But, she realized it didn’t even have to be in the magical world. In fact, it was probably better if it wasn’t in the magical world. She needed hers to be the only magic in the room, and she definitely needed to limit outside interference from wards or traces or anything else that could cause an issue.

Hermione rubbed her face in her hands, thinking how she would make all the pieces fit together. It was a lot, but she was enjoying the challenge.

* * *

Hermione walked around the empty loft that had been quickly and quietly rented by a woman named Jane Austin who had sleek blonde hair and wore sensible flats. The rental agent certainly hadn’t noticed anything amiss about her client, other than the fact that she hadn’t really been interested in any of the building’s amenities. Her documents had all been in order. No matter, a commission was a commission, and "Jane" had certainly been eager to get the transaction done.

It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but that didn’t really matter, as far as Hermione was concerned. No one would be coming and going through the front door. There were two small rooms in the back, along with a bathroom and a kitchenette, but the majority of the space was wide open, with high ceilings. It was the type of place that she could imagine herself living fresh out of Uni, if she had lived a different life.

The echoes of her shoes sounded on the floor as she walked around picturing what would go where. It was exciting, if not also a bit scary. She was dipping into her meager savings to try and make a go of it without negatively impacting the bookshop. If she was right, it wouldn’t be long before she wouldn’t have to worry about money again. And if she was wrong, well, she’d just have to sell more books. It was a big step, but Hermione Granger wasn’t a gambler. She had carefully considered and planned and felt sure that her efforts would be rewarded.

First, she cast a standard series of wards on the loft, then she cast more complicated silencing charms — more like what would be used at St. Mungo’s to keep the floors quiet than by teenagers going at it in the broom closet. She didn’t need her Muggle neighbors hearing anything that went on in here, nor did she want her clients to have any idea where they actually were. She magically shaded all of the windows, except the ones in the small room that she would use. While she didn’t want the space to seem like a dungeon, she also didn’t think the sunshine would be conducive to her work. Fortunately, the high ceilings helped offset the lack of natural light. This space was dedicated to her clients, focused on fulfilling their fantasies, and she wanted to minimize anything that could detract from that.

Her stomach turned a bit with that thought — she expected that she would be working with men who she didn’t particularly care for. Most would reject her outright due to her blood status if they cared to ask. She didn’t think they would, though, and she was planning on taking steps to ensure that her identity remained her own. She didn’t want to rely on Polyjuice potion, given a session could last more than one hour, and she couldn’t guarantee that she would get a chance to take another sip. Changing back into herself unexpectedly would be disastrous. Similarly, she could use simple glamours to change her appearance, but a glamour could fall to a wandless _Finite_ , if the wizard was powerful or incented enough.

Hermione found a solution — one of her own making, and she was particularly fond of the charm she had come up with. It was a modified Notice-Me-Not charm, coupled with a beauty charm and a mild compulsion charm. A tricky bit of magic, for sure, but it should work brilliantly. She had no way of testing it out, though, at least not fully. She had cast a simpler version at the bookshop, without the compulsion piece, and was pleased when patrons asked the “new girl” behind the desk where Hermione was. They hadn’t realized they were talking directly to her. So, she knew her charm would ensure that her clients here wouldn’t see her face or physique in this space. However, if she was going to be successful at this enterprise, it wouldn’t enough to not appear to be herself — she was selling the experience, after all. She wanted to make her clients so hungry to work with her that they wouldn’t think twice about paying her prices or, even spilling their secrets. After all, sometimes knowledge was just as good as currency.

The last part of the spell would serve to tap into the wizard’s own psyche. Who did he want to see as part of his particular fantasy? She wouldn’t see it, but his brain would provide him with an enhanced reality. Maybe it was a bit in a grey area, but she was going into the business of granting wishes, after all. This was just another part of doing so. She cast this charm in the small room through which her clients would enter and exit. When they were in her space, what they would see would be an illusion. In return, she made sure to cast a charm on the doorway, so that any spells that they had placed would be nullified as they walked through, for her safety. This was her space and she would be the only one who would need magic.

Her own room would be outfitted simply. It’s not as if she planned to spend a lot of time here, but it would allow her a place to rest and store the clothes she worked in, as well as toys and tools that she didn’t want to have on display. She looked around. She would need storage — shelves and cupboards, and a lot of them. A small desk for answering notes, a large bulletin board and a chaise for lounging, perhaps. Good thing IKEA was in her budget.

* * *

Mistress Margaret looked over the sheets of paper that Hermione had given her, holding a list of activities for her intake questionnaire.“This is quite a detailed list, Athena. Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off just having a phone conversation?”

Hermione couldn’t exactly tell her mentor that her clients had never seen telephones, let alone know how to use them. “It’s more of a checklist for me. I want to make sure that I don’t forget anything.” She also couldn’t explain that wasn’t even the whole list, as she had hidden the magical elements. Besides, she would be using charmed parchment, not copy paper, to communicate with her clients.

As with most things, the magical world accomplished largely the same things, but with different means. And often, its means could be ratcheted up exponentially. Knots that tied and tightened themselves with the correct spellwork. No need for physical body spreaders when a spell could accomplish the same thing. Why be limited to dripping hot wax on someone when you literally could singe the hair off of their body and blister their skin? Once you applied a proper burn paste, they would be no worse for wear.

If she was honest with herself, it was a bit of a slippery slope. Given her magical prowess, coupled with the potential depravity of her clients, things could get interesting rather quickly. Staying in control was key. She had thought about how she would react to different people in her room, what she would do in different situations, what her own hard limits were. She had learned about all of those during her months in training with Mistress Margaret, but nothing was a substitute for real world experience. And it wasn’t exactly something she could share with anyone.

“And how much will you charge to start?”

This also was a question Hermione couldn’t be honest about. “I plan to charge £100 a hour.”

Her mentor raised an eyebrow. It was an ambitious price for a new Domme in Muggle London. But for her clients? Not in the slightest. In reality, she planned to charge them 100 Galleons for an hour of her time, which was far more than £100. They could afford it and she refused to sell herself short. She had goals and she planned to meet them. Besides, it would ensure that she was pulling her clients from those who she particularly wanted to target. She wasn’t interested in fulfilling teenage fantasies. She was looking for men with more money than inhibition who would pay a fair amount to have the desires they repressed come true — in other words a certain breed of pureblood, the very kind that scorned her very existence in Magical society. Hermione was confident that she knew her market.

* * *

Hermione was close. The Owl Post box had been procured. She was able to use that to set up a new account at Gringotts, one that would automatically convert the contents to Euros and fund a separate account on the continent. She was taking no chances that anyone could find, let alone try to claw back, her earnings.

The props she had purchased were in place, and her wand could transfigure and replicate others as needed. Her wardrobe wasn’t big, but it too would grow over time.

On a whim, she had decided to install a discrete recording system, a muggle system — not that she had any personal interest in the recordings, but she thought it would provide both a layer of protection and a way that she could continue to hone her skills. She was still new at this, after all, and her ability to learn from her mistakes could only be enhanced if she could review them.

When everything else had been set, Hermione only had one step left. She needed to let potential clients know she was there. While she would need to hold her nose to do so, she could cast the widest net using the Daily Prophet. It was, after all, the main media outlet for the Wizarding world. All kinds of ads could be found in it, but her notice needed to be seen only by those who might use her services. Again, she made use of her magical skill to achieve the desired result. Most would see only a simple picture of an owl, a nod to her chosen name, but if you _really_ looked at it, it would resolve into a picture of the rune Fehu and simple, yet vague, instructions.

_Looking for more? Different?_

_To let go?_

_I can help._

_OP #347_

Fehu stood for fulfillment and wealth. Those who really studied runes also would know that it could mean loss of property and reputation, however, she was sure that most wizards seeing her ad wouldn’t know about, let alone, focus on that meaning. At least not now. Of course, hindsight was always 20/20, as the muggle saying went.

She sent off the owl with the copy for her advertisement, hoping the person who organized the classifieds wouldn’t notice anything amiss. If not, her ad should begin its run in the coming days.

Now, all Hermione had to do was wait.


End file.
